


Wrong Place at the Right Time

by jewelianna88



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelianna88/pseuds/jewelianna88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the Boys in their Dresses Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Place at the Right Time

_Standin’ on a corner in Winslow, Arizona  
And I'm quite sure I'm in the wrong song_

Chris tapped the phone in his palm and debated who to call. Juan was probably on tonight, but Katie was definitely working at Dino’s, and she always had the cute smile when he paid. Then there was Trevor, the punk kid who Chris loved solely for his bright orange car. It was worth the scowl to see how much detailing Trevor had added since his last visit.

Two weeks at home and he was on a first name basis with the delivery people from every local restaurant. He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on room service until it suddenly disappeared.

In the end, he chose Katie and ordered a “Meaty Delight,” loaded with hamburger, sausage, and pepperoni. The woman at the end of the phone (Andrea, Katie’s mom) promised it would be there in thirty minutes, and told him to release a new song soon because she was getting a little sick of the other one, since they played it every hour of the day on the radio station in the store. Chris laughed.

Justin had gone home to Memphis for a few weeks, and Lance to Mississippi. Joey was setting up his new house, and God only knew where JC had vanished to. The guy had so many friends he crashed with that Chris couldn’t keep track of them all. If it weren’t for his cell phone, no one would be able to find him. Sometimes Chris thought JC did it on purpose.

Left alone, then, Chris had puttered around his new house in Orlando, arranging and then rearranging the new furniture that had been delivered just last week. He had no plants to water, and nothing had gotten dusty yet. He ran the vacuum in the den because it had a black rug and he’s spilled cereal crumbs all over it, but other than that, there was nothing to do.

Chris Kirkpatrick, the man who’d entertained the masses on five continents, was bored.

**

The next morning, Chris went golfing, trying out his brand new set of clubs. He’d wanted to ride his motorcycle to the course, but he couldn’t find a way to balance the clubs on his back, and ending up as pavement spackle just wasn’t on his list of fun things to do that day. Instead, he’d taken the PT Cruiser he’d picked out and had detailed as a Christmas present to himself. He sang along to “Bohemian Rhapsody” and pretended he was in Wayne’s World on the way over. He’d had a licorice dispenser installed to commemorate the movie.

Having money was a novelty that hadn’t worn off yet, so Chris had bought a lifetime membership to an exclusive Orlando country cub, as well as a full line of clubs and personalized balls that said “CAK” in green and gold script. The folks at the club eyed him as if they thought he might incite a rock concert in the lobby or something.

“O, what a beautiful morning,” he cried, walking out onto the green. Hanging around Joey had given him an impressive collection of show tunes to be sung at any occasion.

“Here, kid,” he called to his caddy, a college-age kid who looked to be about Lance’s age. “Go get us some beers from the dining hall.”

“I- I- “ The kid stammered, glance back and forth from the money to Chris frantically. “I’m not 21,” he finally said, handing Chris back the bill.

“Of course you’re not.” Chris got the drinks himself, shrugging when the kid shook off his offer of a dark bottle. Chris enjoyed a beer with his golf game. It made him see straighter, or something. He supposed there were rules against glass bottles on the course, but really. What was the point of being really fucking famous if you couldn’t break a few rules now and then?

He came in ten over par-- two strokes less than last time, he noted, satisfied,-- and decided that was worth a trip to Joey’s, because Joey’s mom kept his kitchen stocked and Joey never minded sharing. Home cooked food was a luxury that even money couldn’t buy.

Joey’s new house wasn’t far from Chris’, but you had to drive all around the place because it was in a new development, one of those “you can’t get there from here” locations that Chris thought might have been a conspiracy of the gas companies and developers to make people drive more and walk less.

No one answered when Chris rang the bell, but Bon Jovi was blaring from the stereo system, so Chris walked right in and headed straight for the kitchen. Joey always had the best taste in music, and he grooved along to “You Give Love A Bad Name” as he took the steps to Joey’s sunken kitchen and dining nook at the end of the house.

Then he paused, blinked, and resisted the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief.

Joey stood at the sink, back to Chris, washing dishes. He was naked to the waist, shoulders moving in time with the music as he scrubbed out a pot, water steaming all around him. But on his waist was tied a filmy-gauzy thing, with big bluish flowers and green leaves. It was tight across his ass, but flittered down to his knees gracefully. But.

“What the fuck, Joey!” Chris yelled loudly, and Joey jumped a mile high, dropping the pot into the sink with a resounding splash and clatter. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt?”

“Jesus, Chris.” Joey fumbled with soapy hands for the remote on the counter and aimed it at the stereo consul in the wall. In a moment, the music stopped and the two men were left staring at each other suspiciously. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“You left the door open, numbnuts.” Chris took another tentative step into the kitchen, closer to the drag queen currently posing as his best friend. “Though next time I’ll knock.”

Joey looked down at his scarcely covered body and flushed a deep red color from his waist across his chest to settle in his cheeks. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he promised. He wiped his hands on a dishcloth, twisting it nervously between his fingers.

“I should hope not.” Chris eased into one of the high chairs that stood at Joey’s kitchen island. He rested his elbows on the cool marble counter and waited, kicking his feet against the rungs of the chair.

Joey rubbed his thumbs along the band of fabric. Chris’s eyes were drawn to the movement, watching as Joey’s thick fingers nervously slid the flowery print around his middle.

“So…” Chris began, gesturing with his hand that Joey should continue. Joey glanced up at him and smiled, tugging the fabric back into place with a quick jerk.

“Ok. I just got in last night, because of the Christening thing in New York, and there’s just a shit load of laundry to do. Like, everything I own has been worn at least twice.”

Laundry being something that Joey had struggled with over the entire time Chris had known him. His mom had done it right up until the night they left for Germany, and picked up as soon as they got home again.

“So you went out and bought a skirt? I’m not following.” Chris studied Joey, who was still blushed crimson across the kitchen.

“No, fucker.” Joey scowled at him, and began to walk toward the laundry room. “I found it in the pool house. Someone must have left it here.”

Chris nodded like that made perfect sense. And of course it did, because the minute Joey had bought his house, he’d run out and made seventy five keys for all of his closest friends. He reasoned that if he was going to be gone for two-thirds of the year, someone may as well use the pool and empty bedrooms. Which they had, since Joey was wearing a bathing-suit cover-up, knotted at the side of his hip..

Sure enough, Joey’s laundry room was a smelly mess of clothes, piled up over three feet tall at the back of the room and heaped on the washer in layer after layer of fabric.

The water had been turned off behind the washer, which was why the thing wouldn’t work. Chris rolled his eyes at the switch and flipped it. The room filled with the sounds of cascading water into the large metal basin.

Joey stared, wide-eyed. “That was something really easy that I missed, wasn’t it?”

“Yup.” Chris began to shove a collection of T-shirts and shorts in the washer, pulling out the dark ones for a later load. He thought of the old ‘teach-a-man-to-fish’ philosophy, and decided that education Joey on laundry procedures definitely didn’t fall into his job description as best friend and ex-boyfriend.

Chris had been single for a while now, though the press still thought he was dating Dani, who Chris had flouted as his “Look, mom, I really am bisexual!” girlfriend for a few months before growing bored and moving on. There’d been so much going on in the past few months, he hadn’t had time to even think of being involved with someone, male or female. He was just getting to a point where he was looking again, and damn it, he couldn’t figure out why today he was looking at Joey, when they’d spent the past four years as comfortable exes.

Joey fed him lunch while the clothes washed, still walking around in that damned skirt-thing. Chris found himself studying it carefully. It was rather see-through, the dark shadow of Joey’s pubic hair clearly visible through the translucent cloth, the conspicuous bulge of his dick present no matter which way he stood.

“I so wish I had a camera right now,” Chris quipped, licking stringy mozzarella cheese from his fork. He was sitting at the kitchen table while Joey finished washing the dishes.

Joey ever so nicely flipped him off without ever looking away from the sink. Chris snorted, because if Joey thought that was even mildly offensive now, he clearly had slept through the past four years they’d known each other.

“Seriously, though. You must have a camera around here somewhere, right?” Chris looked around, but most of Joey’s stuff was still in boxes. Chris could never understand that- he’d been completely unpacked two days after the movers arrived, because it always seemed like the thing he wanted was buried at the bottom of the last box he looked in.

Joey turned off the water and snatched away Chris’s plate, washing it by hand even though there was a perfectly good dishwasher right there. Chris let it go.

“You know in Japan they have cameras in cell phones? I need one of those. I think your mom deserves to see this,” Chris continued, still sitting while Joey cleaned.

“You,” Joey said calmly, turning around, “will not mention this to my mother or else you’ll never eat her food again.”

“She’ll cook for me. She likes me.” Chris looked out the window, trying to focus his attention anywhere except on Joey and his nearly-naked form. He didn’t lust after Joey much anymore. Not that Joey wasn’t hot- hello, virile 23 year old right there in front of him- but, man. Joey had lost a lot of that youthful exuberance that he’d had when he and Chris had their thing before, and Chris had to admire the man standing in front of him, fully grown adult and God bless him for it.

But the thing was, it wasn’t just Joey that was turning him on. As Chris watched Joey’s reflection in the glass bay window, he realized it was what Joey was wearing that was so damned attractive. Something about the extraordinary contrast between the ultra-feminine skirt that scantily clad Joey’s lower half and the oversized muscles of his chest and arms was creating quite a stir in Chris’s blood, which was already pooling in his groin. He shifted so it would be less noticeable, eyes following Joey’s reflection as it darted back and forth around the kitchen putting away glasses and pans.

The washer buzzed, and suddenly the house was filled with silence. Chris jumped up to switch the loads around, hoping that the crazy ideas permeating his brain would be rinsed out as the next load ran, at the same time drying Joey’s shorts so he could dress like a guy once more.

In the mean time they settled in the den, where Joey had a big TV and six different video game systems, from the newly-released X-Box to his original Nintendo NES system.

They played Mario 3 for a while, because it was the classic of all games, both of them admitted, before switching to something newer. Chris’s shoulder brushed against Joey’s as they rocked back and forth, getting into the game.

The whole time they played, Chris contemplated it. Sex with Joey. Once the idea had popped into his head, it was hard to think about anything else. They’d had their thing, it hadn’t worked out, but in the most amicable way, and they’d never tried ex-sex.

Chris glanced over and saw that the skirt Joey was wearing was gaping open as he sat Indian style. Chris could see everything. Everything.

Fuck it.

The controller fell with a thud on the carpet, and Chris’ hands were sliding down Joey’s back before he could have second thoughts.

Joey pulled away, just a little bit. “Hey, what?”

“You’re so hot,” Chris said, hands leaving Joey’s warm skin to play with the knot at his waist. “This thing, it’s so hot on you.”

“Oh, um. Hmmmm.” Joey didn’t seem able to respond, so Chris boldly kissed him, no reservation at all as he pressed his lips to Joey’s and pushed his tongue inside.

Joey responded like someone had turned the switch, suddenly on and ready to go. His hands flew up to Chris’s head, grasping him tightly, breath harsh on Chris’ sunburned cheeks while they groped like horny teenagers on the living room floor.

Chris pulled back and whipped his shirt off, the polo collar getting stuck painfully on his ear, and he had to waste precious seconds untangling it while Joey’s hands did unsavory things to his chest. Blindly, Chris struggled until he was free. Joey grinned at him, inches away from his face, before leaning down and licking at Chris’ nipple and grazing it with his teeth.

Chris’s world spun and he struggled for some sort of control, but all his mind could focus on was JoeyskirtunderJoeyskirt. Grappling for the flimsy material, Chris parted the wrap to reveal Joey’s hard dick, already shiny and wet. Chris’ palm fit over the length of it like a custom-made glove. He smiled triumphantly when Joey’s mouth left his skin in a sharp gasp as Chris began to twist and pull on Joey’s dick.

“So hot,” Chris murmured, because the flowers were all around his hands as they worked, covering up Joey’s balls so that it was like Joey’s dick was sprouting from a bed of hyacinth. Joey didn’t seem to notice, so Chris slowed down his strokes until Joey’s eyes opened focused on him. “You’re so hot, wearing this.”

“Mmmm,” Joey murmured, hands reaching for Chris, pulling him closer. “I didn’t know you had that kink.”

“I don’t,” Chris swore, hands moving faster again, fingers brushing against the gauzy material with each downstroke. “I don’t know what it is. It’s you,” he said, because that was the best his mind could do when Joey’s hands found his dick through his khaki golfing pants.

“Stop,” Joey growled, voice savage with need, and he ripped into Chris’s pants like a starving man on the hunt for food. “You need to. I need to touch.” His voice was chopping, but Chris got the ‘get naked’ message and stood up to drop his drawers. He all but fell back to the floor into Joey’s arms.

They found a rhythm, together, pushing up and down and into each other, mouths fused in hot, wet kisses, hands everywhere and nowhere in particular. It was frantic and hot, and Chris could feel the rub of fabric between their middles, the knot of the skirt digging into his side almost painfully, but it only added to the pleasure that was building.

“Fuck, Joey,” Chris whispered, reverently. Joey had his hands on Chris’ ass and damn, that felt so good, and when Joey’s slipped a finger down the crevice there, Chris couldn’t hold off any longer. His dick pulsed between them, muscles taunt throughout his body. Joey just groaned and encouraged Chris to thrust through it, hands finding his sticky dick to stroke out the final bits.

Gasping, Chris barely registered the movement as Joey rolled them and descended upon him, cock searing onto Chris’s sticky stomach. Joey thrust down heavily, eyes closed in intense concentration until he too came, spurting all over the pretty skirt.

Chris wished that Joey had come first, because if he hadn’t just blown a load, the image of Joey sitting there, debauched, all dark chest hair and blue skirt spotted with come-- the image would have made Chris come without any touches at all.

The dryer buzzed, and the two men stared at each other from separate places on the floor.

**

They fucked again, without the skirt, because it was damp and nasty, and it was almost as good. Slower, in the bedroom, but good and Chris fell asleep dreaming of Joey in full drag, wearing makeup and heels and they were having sex in a dressing room with bright white light bulbs all around the mirror.

When he woke up, he wished he hadn’t. It was night, but moonlight illuminated a path through the cardboard boxes in Joey’s room, down to the kitchen where Joey was eating. Leno was on TV. Joey was wearing regular clothes again.

“Hey,” Chris said scratching his head. With Joey sitting there, all normal looking again, he stopped. And stared.

Because there just wasn’t anything there. No attraction. Just Joey, who’d made Chris do his smelly laundry and still hadn’t fed him any homemade food. Chris’ stomach growled noisily.

“Here.” Joey shoved a plate of meatloaf and potatoes at Chris, who pulled up a chair and dug in ravenously.

“Um.” Chris looked up from his food to see Joey staring at him. He looked freaked.

“What?”

“I just. I gotta tell you, Chris.” Joey rubbed his hands together. He laid them flat on the table. “I don’t wanna go out with you.”

Chris raised an eyebrow and chewed more slowly. “Um.” How did one respond to a rejected invitation that hadn’t been issued?

“Just hear me out, OK?” Joey’s face looked so troubled that Chris didn’t even crack a joke. “We’ve done this, and it was good, and then it wasn’t, but we’re good. And I just. I think this would mess things up cause yeah, you’re hot--“ and Chris’s face broke into a wide grin at that-- “but that’s all. I’m sorry, man, but there’s just nothing more.”

Chris nodded sagely, as if taking this all in was causing him quite the headache. In reality, circus performers were doing cartwheels in his head because unless Joey was going to put that skirt back on, daily, he didn’t think it would work either. A magic skirt, he thought, wryly. Too bad it wasn’t a practical thing to carry around on tour.

“Say something.” Chris looked up, unaware he’d been daydreaming for so long.

“Yeah, man. That’s cool.” He finished his dinner and leaned back intrepidly in his chair.

“Fuck off. Be serious.”

“I am.” Chris let the chair fall back to the tile with a thud. “Seriously. I was gonna tell you the same thing.”

Joey’s eyebrows raised, and his mouth quirked in a hint of smile. “Yeah?”

Sometimes Chris forgot that Joey was six years younger, still learning the nuances of sex and love and the many degrees in between. “Unless you want to put that skirt back on again,” Chris said teasingly. He hoped Joey didn’t take him up on the offer, simply because he wasn’t sure he could refuse.

Joey laughed loudly, a crack through the silent house that shattered all tension in the air. “You really get off on that?”

Chris shrugged. “Only on you baby.”

As he carried his plate to the sink, Joey stepped behind him and pressed their bodies close together. For a moment Chris let himself imagine that this was how it would be, from now on. The thought was appealing, but when Joey stepped away, the tug of loss just wasn’t there.

**

Two weeks later they left on tour, and packed in the tight confines of the bus, everyone had to re-acclimate to living in each other’s space. Time apart had been a gift to which they’d quickly accustomed. Now, Lance was bitching because Justin knocked over the pile of shirts he’d just refolded after JC dumped his suitcase off the bench, and Joey was trying to guess JC’s computer password at the table.

There had been no mention by either of them of the night, yet Chris had been plagued by dreams. It was always Joey, but there was more. There was eyeliner and lip gloss, and dangly earrings that left cold trails across Chris’s stomach as Joey kissed his dream-body. The meaning of the dreams were clear. The practicality of them was something else entirely, something that belonged in a different dimension where there were no complications to bog down the thrill of it all.

“Hey, what’s this?” Lance pulled a flimsy piece of material out from the luggage storage area. Chris’ eyes went wide when he recognized the blue flowers.

“That’s definitely on the wrong bus,” JC said, taking it out of Lance’s hands and tossing it back into the bin. “Joey! Get off of my laptop!”

Joey held the computer over his head and climbed on the bench as JC jumped, but his eyes never left Chris’, a twinkle of something not-quite-innocent held there.

Chris smiled.

END


End file.
